


To Be Young and Foolish

by vanilla_wafer



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Dream Sex, F/M, Jealousy, Loss of Virginity, Love Triangles, Manipulative Sheev Palpatine, Older Man/Younger Woman
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-07-25 18:54:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20030680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanilla_wafer/pseuds/vanilla_wafer
Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi has never liked Senator Palpatine





	1. Chapter 1

Siri Tachi stood on the crowded balcony overlooking the dance hall. Secluded behind a tear-shaped pillar, she tried to appear inconspicuous, calling upon the Force to cloud her presence. While she could not yet make herself invisible, she could project an aura that was comparatively dull and muted - far beneath the attention of the other, more colorful party guests, certainly. As a result, many of the guests seemed not to notice her at all as they jostled passed.

It was Fete Week on Coruscant, and the glittering, two-story ballroom was packed with richly dressed dignitaries from every corner of the galaxy. The entire Galactic Senate was purported to be in attendance, along with the recently elected Chancellor, himself. Master Yoda and few of the other high ranking Council members had been invited, both as honorary guests and additional security. 

Siri had been to such lavish functions before, but only in her official capacity as a Jedi Padawan. Never before had she been invited as a guest, and she didn’t know quite what to do with herself. She touched the corsage on her wrist, stroking it idly. The velvet flower signaled that she was a member of the Mandalorian delegation, given to her by the Duchess Satine Kyrze. Siri had been invited by the Duchess, along with her fellow Padawans Obi-Wan Kenobi and Bant Eerin. Though Obi-Wan had been sheepishly avoiding her all evening after struggling to make small talk on the ride over. 

Searching the crowd below, she caught sight of Master Qui-Gon Jinn. He was clad in an understated set of dress robes, wearing his hair pulled back. He was walking in step with an armored Mandalorian guard, the two men conversing with one another as they patrolled the perimeter. 

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had only recently returned from a year long stay on Mandalore, during which time they had been charged with protecting the young Duchess, Satine, from a group of insurgents. Obi-Wan had returned from the mission strangely distant, and his master was as close-lipped and inscrutable as ever. This was in direct opposition to Satine, herself, who had been happy to regal Siri and a group of curious younglings with tales of their adventures when she stopped by the Temple for an official tour. Siri had listened with polite interest, graciously accepting the Duchess’ invitation when she finally proposed. 

‘Obi-Wan has told me so much about you!’ The Duchess had said, latching onto her midway through their conversation. ’You know, he speaks of you like a sister.’

Now, gazing down on Obi-Wan and Satine from above, Siri replayed the conversation in her head. Like a sister? Is that truly how Obi-Wan saw her after everything that had transpired between them? Her chest heaved and a faint blush appeared on her cheeks, creeping further downwards as she recalled the tender kisses they had once shared between childish decelerations of love. But that was a long time ago…

‘Ah, young love,’ said a voice. 

Siri started in surprise, inhaling a sharp breath when a small, thin man appeared at her side in a cloud of flowery cologne. She almost reached for her lightsaber before catching herself. She smoothed a hand down her dress, tailor-made and gifted to her by the Duchess. Siri had wanted to refuse the offer, preferring her formal robes, but Bant had gently encouraged her to wear the sleeveless gown. She had worn dresses before, of course, but never one of such fine quality, and she was leery of the green and turquoise coloring, more accustomed to softer, earthier tones. Her lightsaber was safely tucked away in a matching shimmersilk purse. 

‘Apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you,’ the man said, peering at her beneath a wrinkled brow, his blue eyes bright with concern.

Embarrassed, Siri opened her mouth to protest. But in fact he had startled her. How? How had she not sensed him? Had she really been so caught up in her own reverie? 

‘I’m sorry, what were you saying?’ She asked, still clutching the silk purse in a white-knuckled grip. 

The man moved to lean against the rail of the balcony with an easy grace ‘The young Mandalorian couple.’ He gestured to a corner of the dance floor, transferring a glass of sweet-smelling wine from one hand to the other. ‘I was just admiring them from afar.’ 

‘Oh,’ she said dully. He was referring to Obi-Wan and Satine, then. The two had been whispering back and forth all night, taking intermittent breaks from the dance floor to mingle at the bar.

Obi-Wan looked handsome, fitted in a Mandalorian dress uniform of some kind. It was cut from the same green and turquoise cloth as Siri’s own gown. Nevertheless, she felt slightly ill at ease observing the smooth grace with which he carried himself. Where had he learned to dance? Siri wondered, watching as he effortlessly lifted the Duchess off her feet, grasping his steady hands around her small, corseted waist as he twirled her in a circle. 

‘They’re not a couple,’ Siri said. The man turned his head to regard her, but he remained curiously silent. Did he doubt? ‘I mean, they’re just friends,’ she added quickly. ’Obi-Wan is committed to the Jedi Order.’ Her voice dropped a note. ‘I know he is.’

He’d promised. After declaring his love for her, Siri had made him promise that he’d never leave the Order. Not for her. Not for anyone. 

‘Obi-Wan?’ The man said, wetting his lips. ‘As in Obi-Wan Kenobi? The apprentice of Master Qui-Gon Jinn, yes?’ Siri nodded, watching as the man’s face became pensive. ‘Star-crossed lovers, then.’

‘What?’ 

‘Star-crossed lovers,’ he repeated. ‘Forgive me. It’s an expression native to my home world. It means the relationship is tragically doomed from the start, and by fate it would seem. As I understand it, Jedi are forbidden from forming attachments. And even if he were to break his vows, a disgraced former Jedi is far below the station of a Duchess. I can’t imagine the young girl’s parents would agree to such a match, sadly.’ 

Siri huffed, blowing a strand of ashen blonde hair from her eyes. She wanted to stubbornly insist that Obi-Wan would never break his vows, not even for a Duchess, but she restrained herself, pursing her lips. Obi-Wan had been gone for over a year. A lot could happen in the course of a year. 

‘Where are you from?’ She asked, hoping to change the subject. He spoke in a fluent Coruscanti accent, but his style of dress was fairly eccentric, marking him as a foreigner. ’You mentioned your home world…’ 

The man introduced himself with a polite bow. ‘Senator Palpatine of Naboo.’ He paused. ‘You look surprised.’ 

‘I’m sorry, Senator, I didn’t recognize you,’ she said, abashed. Unlike Obi-Wan, she tried to stay abreast of current events by attending the Senate proceedings every so often. She had seen Palpatine before, though never up close, and while his face was rather nondescript, his red hair was certainly memorable.

‘Its quite alright.’ He said with a sly half-smile. ‘I just have one of those faces, I suppose. And Naboo is considered something of a backwater. Though I hope to change that.’

Siri studied him. He was perhaps twice her age, but already his coiffed red hair was beginning to fade at the temples. Soon he will grow old and fat like the rest of them, she thought sadly. She glanced towards the Ryloth delegation, where Senator Orn Fre Ta had managed to squeeze himself into a seat at the head of a long table. The enormous, blue-skinned Twi’lek was being hand fed by two scantily dressed females, a trey of appetizers balanced precariously on his stomach.

‘Ryloth is a poor world,’ Senator Palpatine explained, observing her closely. ’Corpulence is a sign of power and wealth, but I do worry about Senator Fre Ta’s health.’

Siri considered this. ’I’ve been to Ryloth,’ she said in a solemn voice. ‘I’ve seen the starving villages there.’

‘Are you involved with the relief effort?’ He asked.

Siri nodded uncertainly. She and Master Gallia had undertaken several relief missions to Ryloth, but she wasn’t sure which one he was referring to, specifically. The Senator paused to sip his wine, flitting his pale gaze towards Orn Fre Ta when the Twi’lek bellowed a laugh, knocking the half-eaten trey of appetizers from its perch.

‘He’s eaten enough food to feed an entire village. It’s unseemly,’ Siri said.

‘Perhaps. But the sensibilities of the Outer Rim differ greatly from the Core. As it happens, I’ve spoken to many Twi’leks who take pride in the appearance of Senator Fre Ta.’

‘And what about the sensibilities of the Naboo?’ Siri asked, turning to face him. She had never been to Naboo, but she was intrigued by the ornate, somewhat old-fashioned cut of his dress. 

’Ah, well…’ The Senator swirled his glass, raising it to his lips.

‘Senator Palpatine,’ a deep voice intoned from nearby.

A crowd of Rodians shimmied out of the way as a pale-skinned Muun stepped gracefully into view, an elegant green and gold shawl wrapped tightly around his narrow shoulders. Siri felt the Senator tense. He purposefully swallowed a mouthful of wine and lowered his glass, turning to greet the Muun with a bow.

‘Magister,’ he said in a gracious tone.

The Muun stood with his long, willowy arms folded behind his back. He nodded at the Senator before cocking his misshapen head in Siri’s direction, observing her through slitted yellow eyes. The Senator touched her shoulder, gesturing with his wine glass towards the Muun. 

‘Magister Damask, I presume?’ She said without waiting to be introduced.

Siri had seen holographic images of Hego Damask before, but he looked different in person, shockingly pale and thin even by the standards of his own race, and though his opaque yellow eyes gave him the impression of being sickly and jaundiced, they were no less penetrating. 

The Muun was silent for a moment, his expression carefully guarded. ‘I see you have me at a disadvantage,’ he said at last. Curiously, his voice was not at all nasally, as was the case with most Muuns.

‘Siri Tachi,’ she said, nodding. She instinctively reached up and tucked her Padawan braid behind her ear, a motion that did not go unnoticed by the Magister. 

‘Siri Tachi,’ he repeated. ‘The Padawan of Adi Gallia.’ He smiled thinly at her expression of shock. ‘Your master speaks highly of you. I hear you’re quite the prodigy.’ 

‘Padawan?’ The Senator shot her a questioning look, and the faint pressure on her shoulder disappeared as he withdrew his hand into a voluminous sleeve. Siri shivered at the loss of contact.

‘I’m a Jedi learner,’ she said. For some reason, she felt almost embarrassed by this confession.

The Senator shifted in place, pinning her with a wide, blue-eyed stare. ‘A Jedi?’ He blinked, sliding his gaze downwards, surreptitiously checking her hip for a lightsaber. Siri, suddenly conscious of the thin, tight-fitting fabric of her dress, folded her arms in front of her.

‘I thought you knew,’ she said.

The Senator shook his head, laughing softly. He pressed a hand to his chest. ‘No. I would never have guessed.’ He shared an amused, self-deprecating glance with the Muun. ‘Don’t I feel foolish.’

‘I hope you didn’t do anything untoward, Senator,’ the Muun said with a wry smile.

‘He didn’t do anything,’ Siri said, speaking up for the Senator. Even to her own ears, her voice sounded defensive. Apparently the Muun thought so as well, holding his pale, long-fingered hands up in a soothing gesture.

‘I was only teasing. The Senator has a sterling reputation with women, which is more than I can say for most.’

The Senator gulped another mouthful of wine. His cheeks were tinged pink with embarrassment, or perhaps it was just the alcohol. He shot Siri a rueful glance when the Muun briefly turned his back to greet another member of his species.

‘How do you know the Magister?’ She asked in a low voice.

The Senator leaned towards her, smiling mysteriously. ’An old friend of the family,’ he said, when suddenly his demeanor changed, becoming grim. His eyes darkened and his expression hollowed, lips compressing into a thin line. ‘I was orphaned at a young age. The Magister took an interest in my schooling. He helped me on the path, as it were.’

Siri stared at him. ’I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’ Because he was non-Force sensitive, she refrained from quoting Master Yoda, who was often called upon to eulogize the memory of fallen Jedi. Something told her that the Senator, like many non-Force sensitives, would view the Jedi Master’s words as mere platitudes. Instead she reached out and squeezed his hand in sympathy. The Senator went very still, and Siri feared that she had accidentally violated some cultural norm. But then he gently engulfed her hand in his own.

‘Would you like to dance?’ He asked, tossing the question out nonchalantly. He was looking down, staring at their joined hands in fascination.

Siri felt her face heat up, and for a moment time seemed to stand still. She didn’t really know how to dance, and she didn’t want to embarrass herself in front of the Senator, or anyone else for that matter. She swallowed, suddenly aware of a warm and familiar presence coiling around her protectively. Glancing over her shoulder, she locked eyes with Obi-Wan. He was standing in Qui-Gon’s large shadow, squinting up at her with an inscrutable expression on his prim face. Siri hurriedly averted her gaze. She didn’t need to see his face, she could sense his disapproval in the Force. She almost slipped her clammy hand from the Senator’s grasp, before stopping herself. She had nothing to feel ashamed of. She and the Senator weren’t doing anything ‘untoward’, they were just holding hands.

It’s none of his business, she thought, an angry blush coloring her soft features. Obi-Wan had been ignoring her all night, too busy dancing with the Duchess…

She squeezed the Senator’s hand in a vice.

‘Yes.’


	2. Chapter 2

‘You’re much prettier than her,’ Sidious said, breaking his silence during a brief interlude. They were in a fairly isolated, dimly lit corner of the dance hall, but even still, it was difficult to speak over the din of the music, and they had fallen into a companionable silence. 

The girl tensed in his arms. He could feel the flush of her overheated skin through the thin silk of her dress. He pressed closer, tracing invisible symbols across the curve of her hip.

‘Who?’ Her voice was pitched low, muffled against his shoulder. She sounded half asleep, gently swaying on her feet. They had been dancing for some time, and it was getting late.

‘The Duchess,’ he said, holding her gaze when she pulled back to stare at him, her teal-colored eyes large with astonishment. She gaped at him for a moment, her hair slightly disheveled, a strand of blonde silk tangled with the flower in his lapel.

She came to a sudden halt and he released her, taking a step back. He could sense her emotions were in turmoil beneath the smooth, delicate surface of her outer shell, and he waited calmly for her to speak. She made several attempts, opening and closing her mouth. Clearly she wanted to unburden herself, but something was holding her back. More than likely it was the voice of Master Yoda, reminding her that a Jedi should be above such petty thoughts.

‘Obi-Wan doesn’t think so,’ she said at last. She sounded almost petulant, her pretty face mottled with some dark emotion. Anger? Jealously? Shame? He wished he could open himself up to the Force, to savor it fully, but he didn’t dare. There were too many Jedi milling about. Speaking of which…

He caught a glimpse of Qui-Gon Jinn’s chiseled profile. The long-haired Jedi Master was speaking to a troupe of brightly sequined Mon Calamari dancers. The boy, Obi-Wan, was fidgeting off to the side, tugging at the stiff collar of his dress uniform.

‘Well, clearly, the boy has questionable taste,’ he said, flicking his gaze up and down.

The boy was still dressed in the same ludicrous green and turquoise shimmersilk ensemble. Sensing his disdain, the girl hunched forward in embarrassment, expelling a sharp breath as if her own dress was suddenly too tight. She folded her arms across her chest, craning her neck to glare at her reflection in a large gilded mirror.

Sidious turned to admire her in the centuries-old glass. The light bouncing off the warped surface imbued her skin with a pale, eerie glow. ‘You look lovely,’ he said, bending to whisper in her ear. ‘Far lovelier than any Duchess.' His breath ruffled her hair. 'Obi-Wan thinks so, as well. I saw him staring at you.’

He paused, momentarily distracted by the sight of his own ruddy reflection. He wasn’t drunk, nor had he overexerted himself, but he flushed easily due to his natural coloring.

’I don’t think he likes me very much,’ he added, shooting a glance over his shoulder.

He didn’t need the Force to sense the boy’s disapproval, it was written plainly enough on his face, though they had yet to exchange words. Sidious had followed the girl’s lead, pointedly ignoring the young man, who in turn had elected to keep his distance, brooding from afar. It was fairly obvious that two had a history together, but the girl had so far managed to evade his polite inquiries on the subject.

‘He’s only jealous,’ Siri huffed.

‘Of me?’ Sidious fought the urge to grin.

‘He doesn’t trust politicians,’ the girl said, wincing at him apologetically.

‘Oh, well, I can’t fault him for that.’

There was a flash of movement as a Rodian waiter carrying a trey of drinks bustled through a side door in a tinkle of glass. Sidious motioned to him.

’Something to drink, sir?’ The Rodian asked, hurrying over, his starry-eyed gaze darting back and forth. ‘Ma’am?’

Sidious nodded curtly. ’Please.’ Then, when the Rodian was no longer in earshot, he asked, ‘You are permitted to drink, I trust?’ The girl had accepted the glass of wine wordlessly, but she appeared to be in no hurry to drink.

‘I’m of age,’ she said, hesitating.

‘I meant, as a Jedi,’ he took her gently by the arm, steering her in the direction of an empty window seat, ‘are you allowed alcohol?’

He knew the answer to this question, of course, but he feigned ignorance. He hoped that she would feel more at ease talking about something she knew, and she probably knew very little apart from the Jedi Order. He found this was true of most Jedi, Dooku being the chief exception. Dooku was exceptionally well-read, and he could speak intelligently on a wide variety of subjects. The girl, Siri, was quite intelligent, herself, but her cloistered upbringing at the Temple had left her ill-prepared to venture into the world at large. Several times during their conversation with Plagueis the girl had fallen strangely silent, distracted by the rippling currents of the Force. Sidious knew full well the temptation to escape the mundane, the desire to submerge oneself in the Force, but it was infuriating to be on the receiving end of such behavior.

He pretended to listen as the girl informed him of the Jedi’s rather stringent policy regarding alcohol and other substances. It was not forbidden, per se, but most Jedi abstained, breaking their self-imposed abstinence only on special occasions.

‘Well, this is a special occasion, its Fete Week,’ Sidious said, lifting his glass.

He gestured for her to sit. The plush window seat was just large enough for two people. Overlooking the terrace, it was secluded from view by a large ceramic vase ingrained with gold leaf, and the billowing floor-length curtains provided an added layer of privacy.

The girl shifted on the veda cushion to make room. ’Are you going to the afterparty?’ She asked, staring up at him with a pained grimace. 

Sidious swirled his wine, his eyes tracking Ki-Adi-Mundi as the Cerean Master slipped quietly through the crowd, coming to join a small congregation of Jedi standing in a loose circle near the entranceway.

He tilted his head in thought. ’Which afterparty? I imagine there are several.' Slanting his gaze in Siri’s direction, ‘As for myself, I intend to retire early for the night.’

‘I wish I could join you.’ Sidious arched an eyebrow, smirking at the girl’s mortified expression. Her mouth fell open, realizing what she’d said. ‘I mean...I wish I could retire early, as well - to the Temple!' 

‘I understand,’ he said calmly.

The girl let out a long breath. ‘I’m supposed to attend the Duchess’ afterparty, as a member of the Mandalorian delegation,’ she explained, shaking her wrist to indicate the corsage. 

Sidious lowered himself to sit and she angled towards him, clutching her glass in a pale grip.

‘Where is the afterparty?’ He asked.

‘The residential building, 500 Republica. I think the Duchess rented a suite.’

‘I see,’ he said, smiling. ‘Well, that’s good news. 500 Republica is an upstanding building. I have a suite there, myself.’

‘You live there?’ Her eyes widened.

‘I do. I could give you a ride, if you like. But if you’d rather ride with your friends, I understand.’

The girl took a sip of wine, coughing. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you…’

Sidious waved a hand. ‘Hardly an inconvenience.’ But he decided not to press the matter.

He leaned back in his seat, nodding to Senator Ask Aak and a few other members of the Gran delegation. They were crowded around a nearby table stacked with empty dishes, arguing in hushed voices as they began to drift towards the door. Sidious watched them depart, sipping idly at his glass of wine. He was aware of the girl mirroring his actions, and while she kept shooting him furtive glances, he pretended not to notice.

Finally he turned his head, pausing to apprise her over the rim of his glass. While he was no great admirer of Mandalorian fashion, he shuddered to imagine how she might look in a set of drab Jedi robes, her long, flowing hair tied back in a braid. His eyes lingered on the elegant sweep of her clavicle bone, before curving downwards.

‘Are you really a Jedi, or are you just teasing me? I must say, you don’t look like a Jedi.’ Reaching out to pinch to the fabric of her skirt. He rubbed his fingers, creating soft ripples in the silk.

‘No! I mean, yes, I am,’ she said, flustered. She wasn’t wearing any makeup as far as he could tell, but her cheeks were flushed with wine, and her bottom lip glistened darkly.

He brushed against her. ‘Can you prove it?’

‘Prove it?’

‘Can you read my mind?’

The girl stared at him, her expression turning serious, and he wondered if he was about to receive a lecture. Dooku had already scolded him once for jokingly asking if he, Dooku, ever used his abilities to cheat at Sabacc. But the girl remained uncannily silent, and he almost startled when a small, soft hand reached up to touch his cheek. His eyes snapped open and he leaned forward to search her face, but her expression was closed off to him.

‘Try and relax,’ she said, fluttering her lashes.

He shivered in delight, feeling the first shy caress of her luminous presence. How unlike Plagueis, who liked to test his shields by buffeting him with waves of dark energy. But he was grateful for those lessons, for if he could repel the Muun, he could certainly repel this little waif. He could sense her curiosity as she skimmed along the surface of his well-organized mind, blissfully unaware of the danger that lurked below. He allowed her to feel some of his pleasure, hoping to entice her closer.

Oh, how he wanted to open himself up and swallow her whole. He wanted to drag her down into his black web, to feel her flutter helplessly against him as she became inexorably tangled. He would feast on her energy before snuffing her out.

The thought stirred something deep within him, and he instinctively reached out and grasped her knee, trembling as his lust began to sizzle through the icy barriers that served to contain it. Unlike Plagueis, Sidious was a creature of lust, and he had to take great care not be consumed by his own dark, all-devouring hunger. He desired power above all else, but his hunger could be temporarily sated by other means, though he was never truly satisfied.

Gradually he became aware of a hand stroking his face. The girl, clearly sensing some inner turmoil, was trying to sooth him. A feminine voice echoed through the Force, repeating the words ‘peace’ and ‘calm’. A pitiful attempt at Force Persuade, but he enjoyed the feel of her feather-soft touches. He let out a faint sigh, blinking at the girl in open curiosity. He had been playfully flirting with her all evening, but he had not seriously thought to seduce her until now. He had never paused to consider the risks and rewards of seducing any Jedi, at least not in the literal sense. The risks were obvious, but the rewards…

The girl flinched, perhaps sensing a flicker of his arousal. Before she could recoil, he caught her loosely by the wrist. She seemed unnerved by the intensity of his gaze, but she made no attempt to extract herself from his grip. His skin flamed beneath her touch, and he pressed his cheek into the palm of her hand. Turning his head slightly, he brushed his lips against the pale underside of her wrist, feeling her pulse quicken. He imparted a chaste kiss and reluctantly pulled away.

He was dimly aware of the boy’s presence, and he straightened up to appraise their onlooker, surprised and slightly disturbed by this unceremonious interruption. The girl stiffened as Obi-Wan Kenobi stepped into view from behind a pillar, announcing himself with a polite cough.

‘Senator Palpatine,’ he said with a terse bow. ‘Pardon my intrusion.’

Sidious stared at him for a moment, flashing a contrite look. ‘Not at all. Please, won’t you join us?’ He said, a hint of his native accent tinging his voice. He gestured to an empty chair previously occupied by a member of the Gran delegation.

The girl shifted uncomfortably, smoothing the wrinkled skirt of her dress.

‘No, thank you, Senator,’ the boy said, bristling under the Sith Lord’s close inspection. He swallowed tightly, his sober expression comically at odds with his brightly-colored suit. He looked as if he had just come from the dance floor, face glistening, his neck flushed beneath a high collar. Sidious followed the column of his throat upward, towards a clean-shaven jawline, pausing to examine a pale pink smudge behind his ear.

Lipstick?

He smiled inwardly, eyelids half-closed as his vision darkened at the edges, pupils dilating in pleasure. An image bloomed in his mind, and he saw a glimpse of Kenobi and the Duchess exchanging furtive kisses behind a stuffy velvet curtain. He heard the clashing of teeth and the sound of a low-pitched moan, before the image vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.

He opened his eyes, blinking at the comely figure of Obi-Wan Kenobi, now standing before him in the flesh. His gaze became heated, freely roaming over the boy’s trim, youthful figure. 

Kenobi’s face remained outwardly placid, but a faint crease formed in the center of his brow, signaling disapproval. He took in the appearance of the Senator’s rosy cheeks and seemed to draw the obvious conclusion, his soft blue eyes flitting to the half-empty wineglass. He frowned as Sidious raised the crystal goblet to his lips. 

‘I was hoping to speak with Siri,’ he interjected after a tense pause, turning to face the girl directly.

‘Yes?’ Her tone was carefully controlled but Sidious could feel the tension in her limbs.

The boy’s expression faltered for a moment, a tiny softening at the edges of his eyes. He cleared his throat. ‘Its getting rather late - Our transport is waiting outside - Qui-Gon sent me to find you,’ He said in a series of quick, disjointed statements. 

The girl made no motion to stand. She was sitting straight-backed on the edge of her seat, clutching a throw pillow in front of her like a shield.

Sidious counted several seconds. ‘You’re not leaving, are you?’ He asked, breaking the silence. The girl started at the sound of his soft inquiry, as if she’d forgotten he was there. Glancing shyly beneath lowered lashes, she shot him a surreptitious look. Her lips parted for a moment.

‘Its getting late,’ The boy interrupted, rubbing his neck. ‘We really do need to be off - Satine was asking for you - She missed speaking with you.’

Siri scoffed in derision. 'I'm sure,’ her voice laced with ill-humor. Setting the throw pillow aside, she made to rise from her seat, pausing to fortify herself with a sip of wine.

Obi-Wan stared at her, the crease between his brow deepening. ‘Are you feeling alright?’ he asked, searching her face for some clue as to her behavior. He spoke in a whisper, as if this was a private matter.

‘I’m fine. I’m just tired…’ She trailed off, heaving a breath. ‘Why don’t you go on ahead.’

‘You’re not coming?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said, peering into the dregs of her glass. ‘I haven’t decided.’

Obi-Wan seemed baffled by this. 'Siri.' 

Sidious settled back in his seat, stretching languidly. He looked out the window, onto the shadowy courtyard below. ‘Perhaps a breath of fresh air?’ He suggested. ‘That will clear your head. It is rather stuffy in here, don’t you think?’ Truthfully, he felt slightly drunk - not on wine, but on the pungent bouquet of emotions thickening the air around him. He flicked out his tongue. The boy reeked of anxiety, but there was also guilt, jealously, and lust. The girl was more closed-off - a dessert waiting to be unwrapped.

‘Senator Palpatine,’ the boy said in a clipped voice. ’If you’d like to step outside for a moment, by all means.’ He swept his arm out, gesturing to the door.

Sidious felt a vein flicker in his temple. Impudent brat. 

‘I’ll go with you,’ Siri said, addressing the Senator. ‘I could do with some fresh air.’ 

The boy opened his mouth to protest, but Siri was already halfway to the door. Sidious lounged for a moment, sipping his wine, before rising to his feet in a graceful motion. He approached Kenobi, standing a hair too close. ‘I will speak with her,’ he said, squeezing the boy’s arm in a display of camaraderie. ’I’m positive I can convince her to go along with you. If not, I will personally arrange for her transportation to the Jedi Temple.’

The boy shifted on his feet, hesitating. He looked like he desperately wanted to argue the point. ’I will inform the Duchess that there may be a slight delay,’ he sighed. Keeping his hand on the boy’s arm, Sidious felt the tension drain from his bicep.

The boy took a step back. He had been purposefully avoiding the Senator’s gaze, but now he looked him straight in the eye. His expression was polite but challenging, his gaze unflinching even as he bowed his head in seeming deference. He turned to depart, shooting a last, lingering glance over his shoulder. 


	3. Chapter 3

‘Did you find her?’ Satine asked, wringing her small hands. The entire Mandalorian delegation was crowded into a dusty side room stacked with excess furniture. A few of the pieces appeared to be genuine antiques, carefully wrapped in a type of pink packing foam, while others were haphazardly draped with sheets. Satine was sitting perched on the arm of what appeared to be an overstuffed couch. Her stiff, upright posture was in contrast to her guests, who lounged half-asleep. 

‘She’ll just be a moment,’ Obi-Wan said, ducking so as not to bang his head on a low-hanging chandelier.

‘Is everything alright?’ Qui-Gon asked. His soft, lilting voice sounded strained - never one to shout, he found it difficult to converse over the din of the music. He was standing at ease, but through their bond Obi-Wan could sense that his seemingly boundless patience was beginning to wan. Qui-Gon could only tolerate so much excess frivolity, but he had agreed to attend the evening’s celebration to personally ensure the Duchess’ continued safety. Since arriving on Coruscant, Satine had received at least one threatening message from person or persons unknown. Similarly, this is how Obi-Wan justified his continued presence at Satine’s side - business, not pleasure.

_A bit late for that._

His pulse quickened and his lips tingled, remembering their brief dalliance behind the curtain. A goodbye kiss - that’s all it was. Satine was leaving for Mandalore tomorrow - breezing out of his life, possibly forever - and he didn’t expect to spend much time with her at the afterparty. They would be under greater scrutiny, and the Duchess had other guests to attend to...

His mind returned to Siri and the question at hand. _Is everything alright?_

‘I’m not sure,’ he said, honestly. He had his own suspicions, but now was not the time to voice them. ‘She didn’t seem herself. I think she’s a little, ah…’ he made an inarticulate gesture, ‘drunk.’

This second statement was at least partially true. Perhaps the wine had gone to her head - Alderaanian Red was quite decadent, he knew from experience - but he suspected the Senator was more to blame for her irrational behavior. The little man had been whispering in her ear all night.

Satine released a pent up breath, splaying a hand across her tightly corseted stomach. ‘Drunk? Well, that’s a relief. I was afraid she’d been kidnapped!’ The Duchess was only half joking. She put on a brave front, but Obi-Wan knew the events of the past year had left her stricken with anxiety.

‘Padawan Tachi is a very capable, level-headed young woman,’ Qui-Gon said in response, sensing Obi-Wan's distraction.

Obi-Wan faltered for a moment, pausing when his eye caught on a shard of broken glass, before continuing to pace across the wine-stained carpet. Normally he would agree with Qui-Gon’s assessment, but his most recent interaction with Siri made him think differently. What was she thinking - cozying up to a Senator? How could she be so naive? It was obvious the man was only after one thing. Obi-Wan had been keeping a watchful eye on the pair, and the Senator’s body language was fairly explicit, from his roving gaze to his lingering touches. He recalled his own brief interaction with the man, and his skin prickled anew in memory of that pale-fingered hand squeezing his bicep with surprising strength.

‘Do we know anything about Senator Palpatine?’ Obi-Wan asked, coming to an abrupt standstill. In his mind’s eye, he visualized a vulpine smile and a cleft chin.

‘We?’ Satine laughed. 

_‘_As I said, Dooku speaks highly of him. Beyond that…’ Qui-Gon shrugged his broad shoulders. His voice became lightly teasing. ‘I’m surprised the Count isn’t here, rubbing elbows with his fellow aristocrats. He rarely misses an opportunity.’

‘Is the Senator married?’ Obi-Wan asked. Glancing to Qui-Gon, ‘Has Dooku ever said?’

‘I don’t believe so.’

Satine smirked. ’Why are you so interested all of a sudden? Are you hoping to proposition him?’

But Obi-Wan had already paced to the far side of the room. _Is the Senator married?_ What a silly, childish thing to say. As if mattered. As if that would stop the Senator from pursuing an affair. The Coruscanti elite were decedent and depraved, regardless of what Dooku said. They all had mistresses. They were all unfaithful - to their wives and their constituents. 

He breathed a small sigh of relief when Siri appeared in the doorway a few minutes later. Her hair was windswept, tangled in part with the strap of her dress, but overall she looked no worse for wear. Though it was quite obvious that she had been drinking. Her cheeks were flushed, and she kept surreptitiously rubbing her lips. Her mood was slightly improved - she even offered Obi-Wan a shy smile when he held the door for her - but she seemed distracted on route to the afterparty. 

She sat biting her lip, staring out the tinted window of the luxury speeder as they hovered in traffic. Obi-Wan was seated beside her, facing forward. He was sandwiched in the middle, uncomfortably squeezed between Siri and two hulking Mandalorian guards.

‘I’m glad you decided to come with us,’ he whispered, observing her pale reflection in the glass. Her expression was flat and faraway, but Obi-Wan could feel her implacable mental barriers vibrating beneath a seemingly calm exterior, as if they were straining to contain some powerful emotion. He sensed excitement mixed with trepidation, and he wondered at the cause. What was she excited about? Or trepidatious about? Was the afterparty really the cause of all this internal strife? If so, why? Siri was naturally reserved, but never prone to social anxiety. ‘Did Senator Palpatine…’

She turned to face him, blinking slowly. ’Did he what?’ 

‘He said he would speak with you. Did he?’ Siri nodded. ‘May I ask what about?’

‘Why do you care?’ She sighed. 

Obi-Wan felt his eyebrows beginning to knit together. ‘I’m just surprised you two hit it off so well. I wouldn’t think a Galactic Senator and a Jedi Padawan would have much in common.'

Siri shrugged, pausing to glance out the window as their hovercraft began to descend. ’We were just making smalltalk,’ she said, ducking her head behind a curtain of blonde hair. 

Obi-Wan checked over his shoulder. ’Is that all?’ He asked in a low voice. 

Her breath hitched. ’I don’t -‘

‘Siri, you shouldn’t encourage him,’ he said in a rush.

‘Encourage him?’ Siri was sitting poised in her seat, her hand hovering over the clasp of her safety belt. They were swiftly approaching their destination, and she looked ready to jump onto the landing platform. 

‘His advances,’ Obi-Wan said, anxiously clearing his throat. ‘Did he kiss you?’ He already knew the answer to this question, or at least he strongly suspected. He could smell the man’s cologne on her, and the way they had been sitting together… ‘Siri, men like him -‘

_‘You don’t even know him.’_

Obi-Wan sat back, startled by the raw edge of emotion in her voice. ‘I know enough,’ he said after a minuet. Forcing a smile, ‘He’s a politician.’

‘So is the Duchess,’ Siri said with an impassive stare. ‘You seem to get along with her well enough.’

_What did she mean by that?_

_Obi-Wan had spent the last hour or so ruminating on their exchange as he paced the halls of 500 Republica. He was supposed to be doing a routine check of the building, but his mind was scattered and unfocused, and it was all he could do to navigate the twisting stairwells. More than once his legs brought him to a standstill, and now he found himself hurriedly backtracking down a low-lit corridor, padding silently along a velvet carpet and hugging the wall as it curved. _ _Turning the corner, he came to an abrupt halt in front of a red door. The door was slightly ajar. By all appearances it led to a private apartment. Another dead end. _

_Turning to leave, he heard a pained moan coming from within. He paused. ‘Hello?’ Pushing the door inwards, he stepped over the darkened threshold. He heard the sound of ragged breathing, and his feet carried him towards the source. Sweat pricked his forehead, and he suddenly found himself in a stuffy, darkly furnished bedroom with blood red walls. His mouth went dry, realizing his mistake, and he instinctively ducked for cover behind a painted silk folding screen. Peering through a small tear in the silk, he was able to discern two shadowy figures joined together beneath the canopy of a four-poster bed. _

_He quickly looked away, blushing furiously at the rhythmic slapping sound, that of skin on skin, muffled by the rustle of soft fabric. The man was snapping his hips, grunting a few words in his native language. He stilled when his companion let out a sharp gasp. _

_‘Am I hurting you?’ The man’s deep voice, thickly accented but horribly familiar._

_More heavy breathing, defiantly female. ’N-no. It’s alright. Please, continue.’_

_Siri?_

_Obi-Wan almost fell over in shock, and he reached to steady himself, groping for the handle of a nearby wardrobe. Thankfully, the faint thump from behind the folding screen was drowned out by a second high-pitched gasp as the rocking motion on the bed began anew. Siri continued to whimper, either in pleasure or pain or some combination of the two, and if there was any lingering doubt as to the man’s identity, it was quickly dispelled when she cried out his name._

_Only his Jedi training prevented him from reacting on instinct. Shock. Anger. Jealously? He inhaled a deep breath and allowed his feelings to wash over him before releasing them into the Force._

_His senses sharpened into focus, becoming more acute. Eyes adjusting to the dim light. _

_Still crouched behind the folding screen, Obi-Wan waited for the couple to find a decent rhythm before daring to stick his head up. He did a quick scan, cheeks darkening at the sight of a blue-green dress and matching set of undergarments strewn in a heap on the floor. The terrible reality of the situation was beginning to set in. He could sense that this room belonged to Senator Palpatine. The man’s presence - his uniquely cloying scent - hung like a shroud in the air. _

_He realized, almost belatedly, that he was trespassing._

_Get out. Leave. Now._

_The mattress creaked as the Senator changed his position, rising to his knees in a pile of richly brocaded fabric - stripped of his thick outer robe, his loose-hanging silk undergarments draped off his thin frame. Sitting back on his haunches, he stared down at the pale, naked body pinned beneath his own. Obi-Wan could not see his expression, but there was something pensive about his sudden silence. Then came a rustle of sheets as the girl shivered under the prick of his icy gaze, reaching to cover herself._

_Shifting her hips. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not very -‘ She broke off, whining low in her throat as the Senator swooped down to cover her mouth with his own. As they were kissing, Obi-Wan slipped out from behind the screen. Something about the Senator’s posture - the way he was possessively crouched over her lax body - disturbed him. Everything about the events of the evening disturbed him. _

_He took a half step towards the bed before stopping himself. Don’t. It’s none of your business. _

_The Senator had slipped from the girl’s embrace and was slithering down the length of her body, drawing the covers up as he went. Then he disappeared entirely, ducking his head beneath the sweat-dampened sheet. As he started for the door, Obi-Wan caught a glimpse of Siri - sprawled on her back, ashen hair fanned across an expanse of blood-colored satin. Her skin was flushed a warm pink, and she was bucking her hips, fingers clawing at the red and silver-streaked scalp nestled between her thighs. _

_He stared, wide-eyed and unblinking, until his vision watered and the walls of the red room seemed to blur…_

He awoke with a start, promptly sitting up in bed. The blood red walls faded to beige as his lungs filled with the familiar scent of burning incense. Qui-Gon? He instinctively stretched out with the Force, probing the dark space. He was in his room at the Temple. Qui-Gon was sleeping peacefully behind the thin sliding door that separated their living quarters. All was well. 

Except it wasn’t. Something wasn’t right. 

Obi-Way threw off the covers and stumbled into the ‘fresher unit. His body trembled and pulsed with leftover adrenaline. He could still hear Siri’s short, delirious gasps for air as the Senator— 

Heat pooled in the pit of his stomach, and his sweaty reflection in the mirror reddened with shame.

A dream. Nothing more. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty bare bones. It's just meant to fill in some of the gaps of the previous chapter. It jumps back in time a bit. Hopefully it's not too confusing.

_500 Republica_

Siri was standing in the antechamber of the Duchess’ rented suite, waiting in line to use the ‘fresher. The upstairs toilet had mysteriously clogged, forcing Satine to put a call in for maintenance. The Duchess had spent the past several minuets anxiously pacing back and forth across the black and white tiled floor, pausing every so often to welcome a group of latecomers into the crowded parlor. The party had been in full swing for some time, and guests were still streaming in at their leisure. 

Siri had been among the first to arrive, traveling with Obi-Wan and a contingent of Mandalorian guards who had immediately fanned out to sweep the two-story suite before the arrival of Satine, herself. Obi-Wan had taken it upon himself to scout the hallway, but he had since returned. Though Siri had so far managed to avoid him. Their last conversation (in the back of the speeder) had ended rather brusquely, and she could hardly look at him without blushing. 

_Did he kiss you?_

Her face flamed, and she surreptitiously brushed a finger across her lips, recalling the hot press of the Senator’s mouth as he kissed her goodbye on the terrace. He had been aiming to kiss her cheek, but she had impulsively turned her head at the last moment, capturing his bottom lip with her teeth.

_No, he didn’t kiss me. I kissed him._

Scanning the crowd, she sighted Obi-Wan in the parlor, gossiping with a trio of handsome older women, all three of them dripping in silks and jewels. The Duchess was ushering a repair droid through the crowd, and Qui-Gon was conspicuously absent. Her eyes flicked to the door, and she briefly entertained the fantasy of slipping away from the party to wander the halls of 500 Republica. Maybe she’d happen upon the Senator in the turbolift…And then what?

Her mind drifted into uncharted territory, and she suddenly found herself wondering about the decor of his private suite. She knew from speaking with him that he collected rare artifacts, and for some reason, she envisioned the color red. Her lips tugged into a subtle smile. The Senator had made at least one self-deprecating remark about his red hair, but Siri liked it. Obi-Wan had reddish hair, too.

She shook her head. It was just a coincidence. Obi-Wan and the Senator were different people. Very different people. The most obvious difference between them being their age—

_He’s not that old!_

How old was he? Forty-something? Regardless, he seemed to be in good shape. Her blush deepened at the memory of his thin, wiry frame. She had felt him, surprisingly firm beneath a padded vest and layers upon layers of ornate robes. She tightened her shields, daring to imagine what he might look like underneath, striped of his finery.

The door to the ‘fresher swished open and she hurried inside to fix her appearance in the mirror. Her lips were stained with wine and faintly swollen. Siri may have initiated the first kiss, but the Senator had deepened it until they were both breathless, only to pull away abruptly, wincing in pain. Siri had been gripping his shoulders tight enough to bruise, and he’d recently injured his collar bone in a speeder accident, or so he’d said. She’d been too afraid to touch him after that.

She ran the sink, splashing cold water on her face and rinsing her hands with soap. There was a residue of pomade or wax on her fingertips, whatever product he used in his hair. She tried smoothing it in her own hair, which was starting to look rather disheveled as the night wore on, but to little avail.

When she finally emerged after several minuets, Obi-Wan was waiting for her. Siri stopped in her tracks, eyeing him as he stepped out from behind an abstract silver sculpture. He had removed his outer jacket, and he cut a sleek silhouette in a dress shirt and pants. ’I just want to talk,’ he said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture.

‘Do you want to talk? Or are you just going to lecture me?’

Obi-Wan stiffened. ‘I wasn’t lecturing,’ he said, rubbing his smooth chin. ‘But now that we’re on the subject, I think you should know. I’ve been asking around about your Senator—’

‘He’s not my Senator,’ Siri interrupted, the hot flush from earlier blossoming on her cheeks. She struggled to keep her voice even-toned. ‘I barely know him. But if you’re just going to slander him with gossip, I’m not interested.’

Obi-Wan was silent for a stretch, his expression pinched. He made as if to turn, pausing at the last moment. ’You seem awfully defensive.’

‘I’m not defensive,’ she burst, startling a nearby luxury droid carrying a tray of drinks. ‘I didn’t do anything wrong.’

‘I’m not accusing you,’ he said in heated whisper, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her aside. He repeated himself, squeezing her arm for emphasis, ‘I’m not accusing you. I just—I don’t—‘ stammering, at a rare loss for words, ‘I don’t want to see you hurt. I’m trying to protect you!'

Siri shrugged him off. ‘I don’t need your protection, Obi-Wan. I’m not some helpless Duchess.’

She was headed for the front door when a soft voice made her pause. ‘Padawan Tachi.’ She turned to find Qui-Gon Jinn standing at a polite distance, his expression difficult to discern beneath the shadow of a strong brow. ‘Where are you off to?’ His voice wasn’t accusatory, more curious with a touch of concern.

‘Master Qui-Gon,’ she said, nervously wetting her lips. She’d almost forgotten about the soft-spoken Jedi Master. ‘I’m not…I wasn’t—‘ She broke off, stuttering. ‘I was just hoping to step outside for a moment. I won’t be gone for very long,’ she added.

The Jedi Master tilted his head in a thoughtful manner, but his cryptic expression remained unchanged. ‘If you wish to leave, you may. You know you can contact the Temple and arrange for a pick-up at any time. Or, if you have Credits for a taxi…’

Siri let out a shuddering breath. ‘Yes, thank you. I would like to leave sooner rather than later.’

‘Do you have your Comlink on you?’ Siri nodded. ‘Very well. I trust I’ll see you back at the Temple.’

She soon found herself lost, aimlessly wandering the halls of 500 Republica. She would need to make her way to the lobby eventually, but she was in no rush to get there. Nevertheless, she thought it prudent to ask for directions, flagging down a service droid pushing a cart of dirty laundry. The droid pointed her in direction of the turbolift, hurrying on its way. 

She had just stepped off the turbolift, when a familiar voice called to her, ‘Ah, look who it is.’

A smile brightened her face. ’Senator Palpatine.’ She trotted over to greet him, slowing her pace when she noticed his entourage. The men - Palpatine among them - were all dressed similarly to one another, conversing in low accented voices with bowed heads. Pausing to listen, she caught snatches of Basic and the occasional foreign word or phrase.

‘Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise. Where are you off to, my dear?’ The Senator asked, breaking away from the group and falling into step beside her. He placed a hand on the small of her back and pressed her forward.

‘I didn’t mean to interrupt,’ Siri said, glancing over her shoulder. She could hear the men whispering in their native language. They were standing with their backs turned, but she caught glimpses of their features: pale and fine-boned, they all bore a slight familial resemblance to Palpatine. Distant relatives, perhaps? She shot him a questioning look.

He smiled coyly. ’Some of my fellow royals, recently arrived from Naboo.’

‘Royals?’ She stopped short behind a decorative stained glass partition. ‘Are you…?’ She stared at him, as if seeing him for the first time.

‘House Palpatine is one of the Royal Houses of Naboo, yes,’ he said with faint shrug. ‘But I assure you, it’s not as impressive as it sounds. Besides which, I am the last of my line. So it is very likely my House will soon go extinct.’ Hearing this, Siri was filled with a sense of melancholy. She wanted to reach out and squeeze his hand, but she waited too long, and the moment passed. ‘But don’t let me keep you,’ he bowed his head. ‘I know how anxious you are to return to the Temple. Did you at least put in an appearance, as I suggested?’ 

Siri nodded. ’The afterparty is still going on,’ she paused, debating whether or not to continue, ‘but it’s not as much fun without you there.’ The Senator’s expression remained the same, but his chest rumbled in pleasure. Siri cast her eyes around the lobby, groping for something to say. ‘What will you do for the rest of the night?’ She asked, rubbing a sweaty palm on the skirt of her dress. Why was she so nervous all of a sudden? 

‘Me? Oh, I’ll probably retire early and go to bed.’ He sighed, pale eyes glancing at her beneath lowered lashes, ‘Perhaps you’d like to join me?’ 


End file.
